A Time For Change

Well, hello there! Nice to see you again! (In the voice of Mr. Burnt Biscuit, Ed Whealan, but I don't know if I spelled his name right- forgive me.)

SO, like I was saying... Change.

Today I was watching CNN in my hotel room while packing my things. It's my last day in Goa and one of the last three in India, hopefully not forever, but likely for a long time. I have met so many interesting people in so many interesting places on this everso interesting journey (What a loooooong strange trip it's been- thanks Jerry). What I find to be fascinating is the amount of people from everywhere that are hoping that "change" as promised by the Obama campaign isn't too good to be true, and that Americans aren't too misinformed, ignorant and bigotted to give this man a try in the white house.

It will be just like P-Funk brotha! Chocolate City. James Brown as president, Ms. Aretha Franklin as first lady, Ruben "Hurricane" Carter as Secretary of Defense. They won't get to call it the Whitehouse any more. It's about time!

(Sorry about my tangent- I love George Clinton and Parliament. Hell, I didn't really mind Bill Clinton, at least somebody was getting something done in the Oval office. Wink wink. And we had a strong economy and strong, healthy foreign policy.)

So, I get to watch this whole election business unfold from as far away as I can get from home. I get to hear what people who are indirectly but profoundly affected by the American decision have to say when it all comes to the end of a horrible era of policy and hopefully a new, grown-up, educated and employed America. One that can be respected again, one that can confront real issues with non-partison compromise by an administration that has in mind what is best for the people (and might actually listen to the citizens pleading that they don't want to go to war), and one that can say the word nuclear correctly.

Sound it out guys. It's phonetic.

"Nookyooler?"

NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

No child left behind? My ass! How's a child like that get to be the President of the United States? Your guess is as good as mine.

Please, I beg you, don't let me down over here. I want to come home to a new administration, with a new face, a new era of politics. I'm sorry I don't get to vote, really I am, it just doesn't work out that way... so I'm counting on you! I don't want to be the American on tv in Bombay being pelted by rotten eggs and bananas, coconuts and hot, freshly fried samosas, taking the blame just because I happen to be an ex-pat of a very powerful and influential country that decided to continue in the same horrible direction, digging a hole and filling it with it's with all of it's money and the blood of it's soldiers and the brains of it's children... in other words, it's future... then with it's own "nuk-yoo-ler?" waste and sewage and stolen oil and then doggie paddling around in it like it were an inevitably unpreventable blemish on its face.

I guess as far as history goes, the United States is a child and therefore is going through some growing pains. We're young. We're immature. We're impulsive and defensive and ignorant, arrogant and militant and agressive. We talk back, act like jackasses, instigate problems, knock down doors, take what we want and leave the leftovers for someone else to deal with. We somehow have managed to accumulate respect in all of this. Perhaps that's the teenage like resiliency and adaptability, and the quality of intention. It's like America is going through the end of puberty and finally starting to reallize that she needs to shave her legs and put on deodorant, use some manners, use some clearasil, stop popping it's zits all over everyone elses mirrors, put on some make up. It's like middle school for America is almost over and there are real decisions to be made about her future, her girlfriends, her boyfriends, and how she plans to govern her body and direct her actions in this new era of information, communication, education and diplomacy. She's reallizing that she can't go around stomping on other girls dresses any more. She can't go around and tease just to make girls jealous and boys horny. Maybe, just maybe she'll learn that she shouldn't be manipulative any more, she shouldn't take advantage of others for her own profit, she shouldn't start a fight which is unwinnable and maybe she should learn to mind more of her own business and start taking better care of herself. Maybe that cute boy from Canada will offer her some bacon and pancakes. If she's really nice and keeps her nose clean, maybe he'll let her run her fingers through his mullet at the hockey rink. Giggity-eh.

So like I was saying before my imagination took hold and wouldn't let go... Make me proud to be an American again. I'm happy to be American... I love that place! I just want to be proud of it again. I want to feel like we're doing good things for our own people and for the world again. I don't want to come overseas again having to hear that the best things coming from America these days are WWE Divas, the Pussycat Dolls, Nelly and Akon. Please... give me something to be proud of again. Give people around the world a reason to say good things about America. It seems like people in other countries look up to America, and feel like what we do matters to them. In a global community we are all affected by these decisions, and I want to trust that most of my fellow countrymen are smart enough to see what the last eight years have provided in terms of positive growth, positive relations and positive self-image, as well as image in the international community. I want to trust that my fellow countrymen would like to see a positive change.

Enough of that. I hate politics. And nookyouler.


Being that I don't have any pictures for the last two entries, I have to paint one with words. Let me tell you about my last week in Goa.

First of all, imagine bathwater warm waves glistening green-blue as they break and lap at the golden sandy shores beneath the blue of a sunblessed sky. Got that? Then imagine a sweet, warm breeze helping the sweat and sea water evaporate from your sundrenched skin. Then, imagine getting two beers for a buck all day from open to close and eating fresh shark fillet, garlic butter calamari and prawns while watching bikini clad expats from the world over basking in the Goan sun and playing in the waves of the warm Arabian sea. Yeah, this place kicks ass. Particularly, the warmth of the servers as they offer you a continuous series of icy beverages is something to be noted. I wonder if there is ever a shortage. I guess they did run out of gin when Vikram and I spent a few hours at Swally's Beach shack. Hmmm.

SO what's really cool about Goa is the diversity. When it comes to hunting down the perfect beach, all you have to do is figure out what kind of style you prefer to indulge in. There are something like 9 different flavors of beach within like 200 km of eachother. When you rent a motorbike for 150rs a day plus fuel, then the biggest expense ends up being the time and energy spent to get there and away, and the food and drink in between.

The first day here, before we even got off the bus, Vikram and I were confronted with the excited Goan hospitality. Groggy and unrested after 12 hours on the bus, we began to pack our blankets and put on our shoes while the bus cleared out... enter a very excited rickshaw driver... this guy didn't even wait to let us off the bus with a yawn, he popped his head into our compartment looks at me with hope in his eyes and a monstrous grin and shouts "Taxi BABA?!?!?!" with both of his thumbs sticking up like Arthur Fonzarelli and inflecting his voice upward at the end of his jubilant inquiry. We couldn't help it as we both just started cracking up, and it remained and will continue to remain an incredibly comedic memory for the both of us.

We found a great hotel that rented bikes and paid for the week. From there we would spend each day on a different beach in search of a nicer place to drink beer and eat fries. Candolim beach and Calangute are more of the older crowd kind of place, pretty laid back and friendly. Baga beach was simply full of Indian folks on vacation... I would go swimming and body surfing and Vikram would smoke his cigarettes and relax in the shade of a thatch roof or coconut straw umbrella. Then I would come back and join him. We did some beach shack hopping and lots of "bird watching" with the best picks being north of us at Anjuna.

We had wanted to make the trip to Palolem beach, a place that Vik had been with his family years before, but it is about 100km from Candolim where we were staying. Welp, lets go.

Three hours of bumpy, dusty, noon day sun and a 400Rs stop from the highway law enforcement officers later we were hiking the beach at Palolem (That's why men don't stop and ask for directions ladies, it always ends up costing you money and some dignity). This (Palolem) is where the best beer deal on the planet exists in all it's chilled, fizzy glory. That's right. Two for one beers. Happy hour from open to close. One beer=40rs. That's just under $1 USD friends. I think I was in heaven. Of course we had to eat too and be sober enough to make the 100km back without another police interference, oh gas too.

Lemme make a long story short. At this righteous watering hole we met some super cool, dread headed British cats, Abby and Paul. A florist (ginger) and a insurance guy. We had some wonderful conversations and several more beers... well, Vikram had to drive, so I drank for him. When we finally left it was 11:00pm, ETA 2:00am in Candolim. Luckily for us, that's like three hours of singing Incubus songs at the top of our lungs while riding through the middle of nowhere jungle hoping not to get accosted from the side of the road by a tiger or a cobra or a pack of wild dogs or missionaries. Oh yeah, we were low on gas and had only 30Rs. between the both of us. That, fortunately, is exactly enough for .37 litres of petrol Jeeves. Thank you very much. We made it back in one piece, sore and tired and cold from the ride home... but lived to laugh about it the next day.

The next day Vikram went back to Bangalore to continue his college. So I've been alone here for three days. I miss that guy. We had more fun than any human should really be allowed. And now, I've been decompressing and detoxing for the last couple days. It's not nearly as fun to party by yourself. Although, I walked a couple miles up the beach to Baga on Saturday night... How lucky was I to stumble upon karaoke night at a popular restaurant?! I love karaoke. I had a great meal, several beers and some new friends. I met an Aussie/Indian by the name of Trevor. This guys personality is larger than life, and he's delightfully contrasted by his quiet extremely nice girlfriend. It was their friend's birthday, and several of the group had been drinking all day, which made it even more fun to laugh at Trevor's drunken karaoke antics... this guy was a tone deaf riot. Somehow he got me up there to sing Bon Jovi's "Bed of Roses" with him (which I may have heard twice in my life, surely not enough to successfully sing it) and consequently had me laughing until I nearly shot beer foam from my nostrils. Let me tell you, I have now proudly sang karaoke in three countries, and have always had a blast. After the Bon Jovi incident, I felt I should redeem myself with some songs I know well enough to sing, well enough. That called for some Stevie Wonder, some DMB, some Hotel California and of course... a tropical favorite... Margaritaville. I felt better after doing those.

Maybe you're wondering why this is so long. You're saying... damn this guy has a whole lot of nothing to say. Well, I am bored today and I've been reading Steinbeck. There's only so long you can sit around on a beach by yourself drinking beer before you run out of money, sobriety and sunscreen. I traded my sunscreen today for the computer screen, a/c and a good book. Ok... there's a beer here too... some things in life are worth having around.

I want to describe the sunset I saw last night as I looked to the west and thought about camping with my boys back in April. Back in April from the shores of the Pacific on the Oregon coast, I looked west at sunset with my friends, and in the momentary lapse of freezing rain and hail, being battered by the wind and seeing the sun shine through the dark clouds, casting rays and shadows onto the shimmering blackness of that stormy spring sea, I fully appreciated it's beauty knowing that it would be some time before I set my eyes on home again. I thought that just weeks from then I would be so far west I was east, and I didn't know what to expect. Last night I watched the sun set from beneath a palm umbrella. The sun was bright red and the sky above was the brightest blue. The haze around the sun took the color of purple haze, like the color you get when you mix all the colors of your watercolor set together. As the sun sank further, as I looked to the west and felt cooled by the breeze, I felt happy. I feel ready to come home, so far west that I'll be on the east coast of the US. I'm excited. I've learned so much here about what life is really about. I've met so many beautiful and wonderful people. I've enjoyed so much good food. I've had such a good time, and I've come to reallize more now than ever how lucky I am to have been able to do this. I truly am blessed. I can only hope to be able to travel again some day... anywhere.

I hope it wasn't too long. I'll get some pics up when I get back. My computer is not working right now.

Much love to you all. Thanks for reading. I'll see you when I get home.

PEACE.

Long... long days here.

Hola Amigos y Amigas,

No I'm not in Mexico or Spain or any other latin hotspot... though maybe that will be in my future plans. I kind of wish it were Mexico at times, no where to get a shot of tequila here. It feels a lot like Mexico. The villages and towns are dusty and hot with kids running around the streets, feral dogs and people trying to sell you stuff or get some change from you.... yup, the dogs too. The buildings are mostly crumbling and very dingy, but the people seem friendly enough. I haven't yet made it to any temples or sights here yet as I'm kind of just stopping here so I can have a shorter series of bus rides before heading back south to Rameswaram and Kanyakumari.

It's hot here, I'm in the center of Tamil Nadu in a town called Trichy. I arrived by bus at 4 this morning and then had to wander around and find a hotel... they're mostly booked. So an old guy with a pedal rickshaw helped find me a room. I was just ready to sleep... whatever sort of room it was. So I booked this room for a 24 hour stay. The manager showed down a dark hallway to a small room resembling a prison cell (as most places do here with bars on the windows and all) with it's own bathroom attached (something of a luxury here). I thought it might do for a few hours sleep until I could find a more comfortable, cleaner place. I threw down my stuff, tossed a sheet on the likely bug filled, seen better days about 50 years ago bed and switched off the light in hopes of a reasonably peaceful sleep (hardly possible here). About five minutes went by and I heard something squeaky. Hmmm... I thought, as the squeaking continued in the ceiling above me... Can I sleep through that? Sure I can, but let me check out what it is and if it's actually in my room or just in the ceiling. On with the light again as the squeaking got louder... eyes adjusting to the dim fluorescent light I saw where the sound came from and realized that my suspicions were entirely correct. In the corner of the room was a rat's nest with likely a half dozen fat, squealing rodents. I made a decision... to vacate that room and ask for one without the rats. When I asked the man for another room, he didn't understand my English and so I resorted to sign and sound language. Imagine it... 4 something in the morning in hotel BFI (that's Butt F*** India for all you old timers and clean thinkers) and I'm standing at the reception desk making rat noises and buck toothed rodent faces complete with ears at this nice hotel manager. Just think about the look he might have given me. Needless to say, he found me another room and since it was a room with two beds he tried to charge me more... at this I refused to pay more and told him I would find another place. He let me stay for the original price and I got at least a couple hours of hot as hell sleep.

It's now a couple days later. I think it's the 24th, I'm not sure. I really don't know what day of the week it is either. I think it's Tuesday but I can't be certain. With the sluggishness of the computer facilities here, even with word processing, it sometimes takes days to finish these journals. Perfectly fine by me though, as I have more time to think about things and have new experiences to share.

After the whole rat-room fiasco I found a nicer place just down the road. It's one of the places recommended by the Lonely Planet book, which may as well be the bible. It's definitely more useful in a Hindu and Muslim setting, that's for sure. So this place was a little more expensive than the rat joint, but only by about a hundred rupees. It has a restaurant and a bar and big clean rooms. Ok well, that's what they claim. The restaurant was nothing special, and the bar was non existent but let's face it- clean rooms without rats- priceless.

The first day in Trichy was dedicated to rest. I had been on the road for several days with Vijay, my friend Vikram's dad. We had taken a bus to Pondicherry from Bangalore, about a 7 hour ride on some seriously bumpy roads. Riding in a bus here is like riding the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland- for 7 hours. Needless to say, sleeper class in an Indian bus just means you bounce lying down instead of sitting up in a chair. It's like one of those vibrating beds in a cheap hotel room in Vegas but has a full time Nitrous booster and goes all night long without having to add more quarters. We spent two days wandering around Pondi, sweating, wondering why we decided to go there as there wasn't really very much to see, but enjoying the relaxing atmosphere that the once French colony had to offer. It's still pretty French as all the streets are named "Rue (Fill in the Blanco)", the city is layed out in a reasonably organized grid pattern which is pretty unusual in India as far as I can tell, and they even have a scheduled siesta. Good luck finding anyone stirring or willing to serve you anything between 1 and 4 in the afternoon. We went to Sree Aurobindo Ashram- what a party. The kind where there is only silence and somber looks. We saw a couple of nice Catholic churches. We went to a beach near the international settlement of Auroville and got our feet wet in the waters of the Bay of Bengal. We had a couple of beers and boarded busses headed for different destinations. Vijay went back to Bangalore and I went on to Trichy.

So as I was saying, the first day in Trichy was dedicated to recovery from yet another 7 hours on the bus. At first glance, like many of the places I have been here, Trichy seemed like a hot, dirty, crowded and unfriendly place. Fortunately, from my recent experiences I know that the only way to know about a place beyond the safety and relative comfort of your hotel room is to go for a walk. This is sometimes difficult here because of the incredibly high number of underworked rickshaw drivers in comparison to the very few number of pedestrians and especially tourists. I have become pretty good about turning down offers for cheap rides, cheap jewelry, cheap tour guides, cheap drugs and a whole mess of other things people like to try to sell you here. I'll write more on that at another juncture. (hehe, i said more on)

About 10 in the morning I left the hotel room, as it was only going to get hotter in there as well, for the Hill Fort Temple about 3 km away. I would guess by this time it was about 90+ degrees and quite humid with no apparent breeze. Armed with my camera, sunscreen and 2 litres of water I set out for the hilltop. I think it took me maybe 2 hours to go about 3 km. I had to stop and take pictures and find my way. I had no map, just a temple in the distance and a vague idea of how to get there. Once I finally reached the foot of the temple, it must have been well over 100 degrees under the full sun in a clear sky. In the entrance there was a man with a beautifully adorned elephant who would touch the head of anybody that placed a couple rupees in it's trunk... I thought that was great but I didn't know if it was ok to take a picture. Sometimes that kind of stuff is too personal and religiously significant to have some tourist snapping a picture. But that elephant looked like the friendliest beast a man could know. Anyway, the first 200 something of the 376 steps to the temple on top of the hill are conveniently shaded by the thick stone walls and ceilings of the surrounding fort. I want to say that this place was built in the 15th century or so but had been occupied by many groups since the 2nd century BC. I'll have to check my facts, but whatever the year- this place is waaaay older than any momument in the great U.S. of A. and potentially that of most of the western hemisphere. And since it is a palace of God, you must climb the steps barefoot. Some 200+ shaded steps and a hundred something sole scorching, hand chiseled steps later I reached the top. From here was a panoramic view of Trichy and the flood plain in which it lies. I have some killer pictures of the landscape views and a couple other monuments around but those will have to wait until I am on a computer capable of uploading photos.

Like I said before, it's only 3km to the temple. This means it's only 3km back. One day back in early August I walked from Kalambalum back to Varkala. 11km in about 3 and a half hours. It took me the next 3 and a half hours just to walk the 3km back to the hotel. What happens in places like this is a combination of things really, a calamity of interests pointed in your direction from the world you are invading or in this case attempting to retreat from. Village life goes on with or without you in it, but when you find yourself in it, it's sometimes difficult to escape, which ends up being something very special and rewarding for you and for the villagers.

As I was walking from the temple through the roughly cobbled streets bordered by flowing, open sewers and tightly constructed buildings connected by narrow alleys, around every corner was another friendly, smiling person; another group of children playing cricket or football in the streets, another toothless old man or woman nodding in my direction and cracking that gaping smile. Everyone here seems eager and excited to meet a foriegner. You have to be ready to answer a gauntlet of questions typically in this order and spoken this way:

1. "Which country?"
2. a. "Your good name, sir?" As spoken by a typical adult male.
b. "Name?!" As asked by a very excited child.
3. "You are married?"
4. "Purpose?"
5. "You are here?"
6. "Your job?"

What I gather from most of my interactions in this setting are that there are two types of people here that want to talk to you. First, the most eager of all (kind of like the curbside evangelists back home) are the people that want to talk to you for the sole purpose of pitching you something. There are almost a billion people in India alone and I'm beginning to feel like if there were a tourist market for grandmothers, at least one out of ten men walking the streets would be trying to sell his to me for a "very good price". This goes for everything from rickshaw rides, tours, drugs, custom clothing, artifacts and paintings and carvings and maps of India... the list goes on. It's good to know that I don't have to go far to get anything I need, "very good price". The second is the open commoner with a few words of spoken english or the excited child who is learning english in school. For some children the only words they know are "Schoolpen, Pen!!?" or "Moneycandymoneypen?!!" or "Halllooo!" or sometimes "Weccom to Innia!". This is the best part of traveling here. There are always happy, curious, grinning children excited to meet someone from a strange, far away place. And most of the time they are completely content just to exchange "Halloooos" and hand shakes. I hate to think that in a few years, those innocent little kids will probably be peddaling their grandmother to people like me.

Once I made it down the hill and through the streets of the village below the temple, I wound up walking through the local city market. Here, I was promptly accosted by some more interested locals. It wasn't long before I was surrounded by smiling people and giggling children as I took their pictures and showed them the image on the lcd screen. I would venture a guess that most people here have rarely, if ever seen a photo of themselves, and I'm happy to have provided that experience for a few of them. I was made to sit and exchange information with a man and his daughter so that I can send him a copy of the picture. In the mean time I was fed a lemon soda, a samosa, an orange and some really tasty fresh fruit drink... and three beedi cigarettes. They don't take no for an answer, and who am I to refuse the hospitality of strangers who are only trying to make me feel at home in their home. What lovely, humble people! It was hard to say goodbye and make my way back to the hotel, but I was ready for a shower and a good sleep. Much like now.

My time is almost up here at the internet cafe. I have been sick for two days and have been laying low in Madurai. I'll write more soon. I haven't seen the incredible temples here yet but they look great from the rooftop restaurant at night. Until next time... Even though I'm having fun, I can't wait to get home again.

The Dirt

Greetings from beautiful Kerala State! I'm still in Varkala, soaking up so much of this beautiful place that my cup is overflowing. I'm not short for words, as usual, but there is so much to see and experience here that I don't even know where to start. The amount of time I could potentially take processing these experiences and putting them into words is far longer than I want to spend in this sweaty internet cafe.

Perhaps I'll start with the title of this entry, The Dirt. I have been thinking about this for some time now. I feel like even the dirt here has character. You can tell a lot about a place by examining the dirt. For example, when I was doing archaeology in central Oregon, I was fortunate enough to find myself 4 meters deep in a hole in the earth. At that strata, the dirt had the deep brown color of used coffee grounds. It was so rich and real that the smell was sweet and the feel between my fingers was unlike any dirt I have ever experienced.

As for the dirt in India, the color is a deep reddish brown color. The colorful fertility of the soil here speaks so much about the people here. This earth is an intricate part of everything built here, everything eaten, and is clearly running through the blood of the Indian people. Without this dirt, bricks for homes would not be made, wonderful vegetables and fruits would not be grown, flowers would not have such vibrant colors and perhaps even the clothing would not be so ornate and colorful. I'm not sure that making this connection will mean anything to anyone else, but I know the smell and feel of the dirt at my home in Oregon is a huge part of who I am and where I come from. I have tasted it and smelled it, scoured it from my wounds and I must say I really dig it. (hehe. you like that one?)

This place, Varkala, is made up of the cliff side resorts and dwellings that butt up against the westernmost shoreline of the Indian subcontinent on the Arabian Sea and then what the locals call the "backside". The "backside" is the eastern inland where nearly all of the locals live and work in daily "normal" life. Varkala itself is a small town with all the necessary amenities but there is an interesting local jealousy between the cliff people and the local Varkalans. I can identify with the folks on the "backside" because they definitely don't reap the same rewards of the western tourist culture as the cliff dwellers do. The majority of the money in this area is spent directly on the cliff in seafood restaurants, ayurvedic resorts and hotels and craft shops. Many of these seasonal establishments are run by out-of-towners, often people from way up north in Kashmir or Delhi. Granted, the people that run the cliff establishments travel for five days on a train to get here and live far from home for six months during the tourist boom... and on top of that, they pay exorbitant amounts for rent and utilities. The rent for a place right on the cliff is about three times what a place would cost on the back side... so it ends up kind of balancing out, kind of.

Kerala is the most progressive state in India, being the first to completely abolish the caste system, reform education and public health care. They boast the highest literacy rate and the lowest infant mortality rates in India as well as the highest life expectancy. The last one though is unfortunately countered by the highest rate of alcoholism and an appalling female suicide rate of almost 34%. Wow. I wonder about this stuff a bit.

Health care here is good and cheap. A person could stay in a hospital for a week here, have an operation and complications and the bill would be maybe 15,000 rupees. Do the math on this and it comes out to be a little under $400 USD. Now, take into account the average salary here might be 5000 Rs. per month, and it comes into perspective for the locals a little bit more. As a socialist state, there are quality government run hospitals and schools that the people seem to be quite proud of. I never thought I would say the words "quality" and "government" in the same phrase before. Most people speak at least a little bit of English and some speak many other languages. My friend Nassar, a restaurant owner on the "backside" reads in Italian, English, Malayalam, Telugu, Tamil and maybe even Hindi which is not as common in the South. It's fascinating. My friend Shibu runs a successful business and is well spoken in English and reads Tamil, Malayalam and Arabic (he's Muslim) on only a sixth grade education. Nassar's thirteen year old son read the local Malayali newspaper to me in English. What's great about this is that the papers here write with smart people in mind. In the states, our papers are written to the fifth or sixth grade level and tend not to allow the reader to make connections think critically... I must say, all of the papers I have read here have kept my attention and made me think, and I didn't have to force myself to read it... it was succulent reading.

I have a theory about why the alcoholism and suicide rates here are high. There are several factions within the people's government and represent all ends of the political and religious spectrum. This place is so deeply religious and so political that it is very difficult to make decisions in the interest of the majority. The differences in ideology and philosophy make it hard to identify and then accommodate a majority. That's one thing. Another thing is that with the abolition of the caste system, and a politically mandated opportunity for people to work outside their caste this unfortunately doesn't make any consolation for women. A woman's place in Indian society is still that of home maker, mother and wife. Many women work as cleaners and seamstresses, shop keepers, laborers and such, but still a vast majority of women have no mobility in society. The men work and drink. Women... do what women do, and then put up with drunk men. Without appreciation or societal mobility, I could easily see how many women could find suicide to be a quick way out of the depressing cycle of gender roles. It's sad. Many women and men that have been well educated travel off to the larger cities for work in the corporate world... a totally different kind of depressing circumstance in terms of globalization and the raping of a deeply rooted culture for the fast paces, wealth hungry world of the west.

Alright, enough of the depressing stuff. Soon I will embark on a journey of solace. Emily has started settling into her job as a teacher in Trivandrum. It's a great job and it will be such a great experience for her there. As I have not been sure I wanted to stay until April, for various reasons, I decided not to take a similar job at the same school. I have some things to work out for myself that I feel like I need time and space for. I have the time, I have the space... so I'm going to take it.

I'm planning to travel for several weeks alone. I'll start from Varkala, take a train about 3 hours south to the end of the continent at Kanniyakumari, where the Arabian Sea, the Bay of Bengal and the Indian Ocean meet. I was told by a fortune teller that I should go to Varkala temple, pray and be blessed and then go to Kanniyakumari temple and meditate. This is just another reason to go to that fantastic place. After that I head north and east toward Rameswaram, the closest point to Sri Lanka and another great place. A day or two there, then to Pondicherry or thereabouts. Pondicherry is a very historic place, colonized by the Frenchies in the 1500's I think. It's supposed to be fabulous, but I really want to go to this place a bit south that is famous for it's rock carvings. Then further north, through Chennai (a big nasty city where I don't want to stay) and then west again toward Bangalore, south into the hillstations of the western ghats and Munnar to a place called Kumily ( I want to go mountain biking there). I am really excited to be free to do that. My camera, my book, my ipod and me, traveling through south India... what a great adventure.

For those of you that haven't heard, I'll be coming home in November. My plane leaves from Bombay on the 5th of November. I have a wedding to go to on the 1st down here in the south, then 40 hours on a train and a day in Bombay before I fly to Newark, New Jersey. I'll spend a month on the east coast with my awesome family, do Thanksgiving with Nana (guaranteed to be a feast) and then fly to P-Town on the 10th of December. Just in time for Christmas.

I'm going to miss it here kind of like I miss it there at home, but I know that I can always come back and that I will always be welcome here. When I look back on my experiences and think about the great people I have met, places I have been and things I have seen, I will remind myself of the months of prep I did to be able to come here and how it really wasn't so bad. It's not expensive here at all, and now I know how to go for really cheap if I want. I will surely be back. If anyone wants to come to India- ever- you let me know... we'll start planning and saving. It's soooooo worth it!

I really owe Emily for this experience too, I would never have come here without her, and I would have never learned some of the amazing lessons that traveling with a good friend can teach. She's truly a great person and an amazing friend and I love her very much. Thanks Em!

Bombs Over Bangalore

About two weeks ago there were some bombs that went off in Bangalore City. There were 8 explosions in the afternoon. The blasts were spread strategically over the entire city. Several were injured and one person was killed- in Bangalore.

In Andrhabad there were more than a dozen blasts. This time the casualties were more numerous. At least 30 people were killed and dozens more were injured.

At this point there are no leads for the police to follow, no motives from the attackers beyond cowardly malicious violence. No group came forward.

What a sad day for India. Especially South India. People here tend to frown on violent acts and seem to genuinely care about each other. The kindness that exists here is phenomenal. And the violence that happens is far less frequent than in the North in Delhi or up in Kashmir. What is interesting are the economic and political dynamics that are changing the ways people interact with one another. These are some sad changes happening.

One day Em and I were in a rickshaw sitting in traffic. We were on the way to watch our friend's metal band "Nyeh!" perform. They're fantastic if you like metal by the way. Anyhow, our auto driver got impatient while sitting in traffic (happens often) and decided to take some back alleys and side streets. This usually means they're running up the meter and it's time to use some direct verbal persuasion. We knew what he was doing though- he was one of the really nice rickshaw drivers that's not trying to rip you off. So we're barrelling through the back alley ways, late for a show when on the side of the road we see a man having a seizure... like a bad one... as if there is such a thing as a good seizure. Nobody is helping the guy, they're just looking at him flailing around and foaming at the mouth. Our rickshaw driver is the only one with enough balls to help the helpless. He didn't care about his fare or the fact that we were late (nor did we), screeched the rick to a hault and bailed out to help this man, protecting his head from the pavement and wiping his face with cold water.

After a good solid minute of the seizure the man finally was able to relax a little and came back to life. He was scared. We were scared for him. As it turns out he is an eppileptic and his seizures are brought on by any number of things from food choice to stress to lights. He had information in his pocket that explained his situation better than he could in his disoriented state. Also, he spoke Tamil.

The native tongue in Karnataka is Kannada ( like Canada as it would be spoken by a British person, only with a slight emphasis on the second "n"). The rickshaw driver spoke a little Tamil, but fortunately there were some teenage boys that stopped who have been learning Tamil in school. There are like 5 languages commonly spoken in Karnataka. Kannada, Tamil, Telugu, Hindi, English... That's just what I can name. Each state has it's own state language, though there are dialects upon dialects and small sects of people in rural areas that speak some very random languages. Though the National Language is Hindi.... lot's of folks don't speak it and it seems that even fewer speak more than a handfull of words in English.

So it turns out that this man, in his middle 20's just came from the doctor. He didn't have the money to get the medication he needed, and he was being sent back to Tamil Nadu for some other treatment. He had very little money, no food or water and could very easily have started having a seizure while crossing the street. Since crossing the street here is like playing Frogger in real life, shit man, that's hazardous. We gave him enough money to get to Tamil Nadu on the train, to eat for a couple of days and to buy his medication. For me it would be like a half day of work in the US- Giving that is worth every penny to me, every rupee. I hope he made it to Tamil Nadu and I hope he can get the help he needs. I will never forget that experience.

This is something I have learned about after the fact. The people that were standing around didn't do so because they didn't know how or want to help this man. They stood out of fear. There is a fear here based in political corruption, set ups and swindling. Apparently people have been set up and been blamed for another person's death. Nobody wants to get framed for trying to help someone and having them die while all you're doing is trying to help a fellow human in need. So people stand and look on in fear of legal and political repercussions... gosh... it's starting to sound like the states. It's people like our rickshaw driver, who don't care about the system but that care about real life, that we need so desperately in this world of sheeple.

There is a difference in this though. I'm going to jump back to the bombings.

I was supposed to go from Varkala on a 20 hour train ride to Bangalore the day the bombings occured. I had cancelled my train tickets because Emily was stupid sick. I'm talking cant walk or move or talk kind of sick. I think it was a blessing, because I very well could have been anywhere near where those blasts occurred. You just never know. I'm thankful to have not been there.

Here's something interesting though. In the U.S. if 8 bombs went off in L.A. or San Fran or Portland or oh... say... New York... The media would surely be talking of it for a month. It would be sensationalized and glowing with "Terrorism" and a "war" on some other kind of intangible idea. They would be feeding the nation the usual healthy dose of fear, calling for retaliation in some capacity, trying to place blame on religious groups or that damn "rock and or roll" music. No doubt the majority of the people that watch the glowing screen would surely suckle the teat of sensationalism and go buy "Anti-Terrorism Spray!!! All New From the Makers of Raid. " You know, S.C. Johnson Wax (a family company), Johnson and Johnson (a family company), Philip Morris and Kraft and Heinz and AOL Time Warner and the Federal Reserve Bank of America and the Rockafellers (likely all part of the same very wealthy family company). Not only would people be affraid, but they would buy into something that was fed to them as a solution to either be able to avoid this kind of danger; (by locking yourself into a bulletproof room sealed with plastic and duct tape, hiding under a bedspread beneath the safety of an upside down refrigerator box clutching your "ANTI-TERRORIST SPRAY!!!", a framed picture of Pat Robertson and your Gideon's Bible) and/or would buy into the idea of a solution- by going to war to try to make peace, no matter how counter productive.

My point is...

Here, when the bombs blasted and people died it seemed to be more important that something tragic happened, people died and that it was truly a sad day for a country, a people that pretty much maintain a stance on non-violence. Things just shut down in the emotions of the people. No one spoke of being affraid to go out, they spoke of being saddened that people could be so pointlessly heartless. I won't talk about their government's desire to have a nuclear program more than just to say- the biggest fear in the blood of the east has to do with the rich white men from the west, their lust for wealth and power and their willingness to break the rules and dodge any principles of schivalry or ethics to attain their goal.

I think we all know that unless we choose to rise as people- independently of governments and laws placed upon us, but together as humans supporting the positive and selfless acts of other real humans, for the good of mankind and not the stock market and for just a small portion of mankind, we will continue to be held down by greed and by money and materialism and violence. Is that what we want as our human legacy? When we finally rape the Earth for all she is worth and move on to Mars to rape her too, what will Martian Jesus think? Ask yourselves people... What Would Martian Jesus Do?


So, on the talks of "freedom". There have been clubs here, that have been shut down for playing live music. There is something against live music that is not classical western music or the native Hindustani or Carnatic music. Even those, you must have permission from the "authorities" before you can hold a gathering. Permission means (give us money).



I CALL SHENANNEGANS!!!! WHAT A LOAD OF SHIT!

Lemme explain... my friends in the metal band, have friends in other bands... there is quite a thriving music community in Bangalore. Each Sunday they try to gather in Cubbon Park for Sunday Jam, and each Sunday they are kicked out by the cops. Private establishments will have live bands play... until they are shut down by the cops. Why would a peaceful gathering be shut down simply because of the kind of music they're playing?

Yesterday I attended Sunday Jam in the Park. There were about 40 people there between musicians and onlookers enjoying the company of like-minded peaceful music people. It was all acoustic. There were a total of fiveor six guitarists and two djembe drums... what could be offensive about that. Nobody was drunk or disorderly, there was no booty shaking or permiscuous dress, no drugs, no alcohol and nothing being peddaled... just a friendly gathering. Ok so there were a few cigarrettes.

The jam went on for maybe 30 or 45 minutes before the cops came, waited til the song was over and ordered everyone to disperse. The folks there had signs saying things like "Music is our birth right, and for it we will fight!", "Free the spirit of Bangalore! Music=Life! Don't kill the song!".

How sad.

I have never felt like more of a hippie activist than at that moment as we all just stood and looked at the cops with faces like, "really? seriously? how f'ing lame are you? what if it were a group of school children? would you make them stop singing too?". We eventually dispersed once the point was made. Nobody wanted to get arrested this time. Maybe if there are more people.

That kind of social control sucks.

On a happier note... Em and I are living in Varkala- google it, it's gorgeous. She got a kick ass job at Trivandrum International School and we've rented a 5 bedroom house there that is fantastic. I'll write more about that at another time. You should all come visit, unless you're scared of big f'ing spiders and cock roaches. The pics here are real, not doctored at all. These are average size spiders that come in two or three at a time nearly every time it rains (its monsoon season... so every day). The match box there is about an inch and a half long... that should give you an idea. And I don't know if they're poisonous.


In the last weeks I have truly learned to appreciate some things that I may not have appreciated so much before. There is no hot water unless we boil it on the gas stove. When I shower I just pretend I'm in a tropical waterfall... cuz I kind of am. We have a well that is attached to a pump fortunately, so we only have to pump water into the reservoir on the roof about twice a day. There is no refrigerator and vegetables and fruits spoil very quickly, so every two or three days we get groceries. Eggs are good sitting out for a few days without refrigeration... no problem. Buy a dozen and a half at a time and we're set for three or four days. There are sugar ants that find their way into anything, so things have to be sealed very tightly. We wash our clothes in a bucket and hang them on the indoor line.... for about three days. It's not uncomfortably humid here or hot, but the clothes just absorb the moisture. There's no TV- thank God. Just my computer to watch DVDs if we want. Soon we'll have internet access there so I can share some more stuff and be a little more connected. I'm glad there's no TV though. The beach is about a fifteen minute walk. To get there we pass by two temples that broadcast prayers periodically throughout the early morning and the day... into the night. It is annoying at first but then I reallize that no matter what language or how it is sung... how could prayer be annoying? It's not something that invades my dreams, so I don't mind. The streets are slightly paved, and slightly muddy water in pot holes... wet feet quite often here. In the backyard we have coconut trees, banana trees, a guava tree and I think a Jack Fruit tree. If youve never seen a Jack Fruit... lookit up, it's pretty gnarly. It's the size of a watermellon and kind of spikey on the outside and it hangs from the trunks of trees. When you break it open there is a rich and sweet yellow fruit inside that like a pomegranate on a much bigger scale, houses seeds the size of brazil nuts. I'm not sure if there is one there or not because they just passed out of season. So did the mangoes. There are like 100 kinds of mangoes in India... and they all are fantastic!

The food here is phenomenal. I love to eat, and cook... so I'm trying to find people that will teach me.

I'll write more soon but for now I have some stuff to take care of before I get on the night train for Varkala.


I hope everyone is enjoying their summer!

Much Love,

Chris

Word From Curry Country!!!!!

Here I am. I am here.

Here is a sweaty internet cafe in Mysore, Karnataka. It is likely almost 90 degrees in here, which would be nearly unbearable if there weren't a fan blowing on us constantly. The sounds of shouting and work, traffic and honking are a constant reminder of the bustling life two floors below.

We came here to see the Palace of The Maharaj, go to some temples and a sandalwood and incense factory. By we I mean myself and my new friend Raffaela. She is a wine maker from Italy on holiday for a month- I'm quite happy to have met her at the guest house. She is a lovely person with much to talk about and has proven to be a great travel companion for this short time. We took the two hour, Rs.36 train ride from Bangalore two days ago and will likely leave tomorrow afternoon on another crowded, sweaty train. She leaves for Pune further to the north on Wednesday.

It is officially monsoon season here, though it hasn't yet shown us it's torrential capabilities yet, this area will soon be pounded and ponded by water. To the west, on the coastal plain there have been floods and tragic displacement of people, and lives lost. We are further inland by quite a ways (check out a map if you want) so it should only get wet and soggy and likely quite muddy here. As of yet, the weather has been quite nice. Warm and slightly muggy during the day, and mostly cool at night. It's quite a blessing since I hear that the summer time is upwards of 110 degrees and 80+ percent humidity. The mosquitoes aren't too bad yet either... they come after the monsoons.

This place is a serious wake up call for anyone who takes life for granted. Coming from a place where everything is easy; where seemingly everyone has too much and only wants more, where it is safe to drink tap water nearly everywhere, where we can swim in the lakes and rivers, where the air is fresh and the sidewalks are clean, where there isn't raw sewage in every water way- coming here is enough to humble anyone.

I'm not sure how many times each day I am tapped on the arm, or have my pants tugged by a child begging for some change. How many times I have stepped around a person, incapacitated by disease or deformity, or possibly very dead on the sidewalk. I can't really tell you much about how it feels either, to feel cold for turning my head away, or stepping around someone so near to death. This is India. It is very much live and let live. It is also very much live and let die.

All things considered...

The people here are so kind, warm and generous, so spiritually connected through their deep cultural and religious roots. It is so nice to speak with the well educated and hard working people. They are inquisitive and open and really just pleased to hear different perspectives, as am I. I have met teachers and software engineers, police officers and bus drivers and restaurant hosts... all have a story and all have a genuine smile. Here it seems there is no reason to be fake, there is no reason to front or to flaunt. This is really based in the cultural value of family as status, rather than wealth. For so many here also, to flaunt anything would be a wasted endeavor, taking away from the ability to provide for ones family. This is the most real place I have ever been.

In the newspaper this morning I read the classified section. Two pages of this classified section were matrimonial advertisements. Families advertising their sons or daughters to other families often with the words "Caste No Bars". People respond to the ads and set up meetings between possible couples and families, and if it seems to be right... they marry. Who knows you better than your family? It is nice to see that people are beginning to marry beyond the idea of caste.

Coming from the west where we regularly date people often for years at a time, we get into sexually involved relationships without the intent to marry, we marry and then divorce and often have children out of wedlock, in a way the system here seems closed and regimented. It seems as though you have little choice of your own in the matter of marriage. When your family decides it's time, it's time. I'm sure you have a say in the type of person you would like to marry, and it is factored into the advertisement run by your family members, but really.... it seems to take the choice out of it.

On the other side of things... talking to Santosh, an elementary school teacher here in Mysore, he made it clear to me how really beautiful an arranged marriage might be. He said that it takes the worry out of knowing whether you will find the right person for you, it allows you to focus on your education, career and family life. When the time is right, and your family thinks you are financially stable and emotionally prepared to marry, it is arranged for you. "This is a bond", he says. There is typically no option of divorce, and usually no need as people here are typically non-violent and quite respectful of each other. As you learn that your partner is a different person, and you respect that person for all that they are and are not, the bond between you grows. It is life long and tied deeply into both families. There are often over a thousand people at a wedding. It's quite interesting to hear these points of view, as arranged marriage often has a negative connotation in the minds of westerners. I'm sure it is all case sensitive, and I'm sure it isn't always what is best, but I'm also sure that the western system of "dating" and "mating" isn't any better. Just different I guess.

Many of my previous writings have had bits of humor in them... I'm kind of like that. It makes life easier when you can laugh about things. So, like in Japan, where some of my favorite sights were t-shirts with sayings like "Dunk a dough nut into coffee", or "Desert Storm Wind Gust" or "Lick the bottom of your slipper for immunity", here is not too different in terms of wearable laughs. So far I have seen..."Jeesus is our sabiour", "Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die" as well as my personal favorite, "I swear to drink beer, I didn't drink God". The ones here aren't quite as funny or as common as in Japan. What IS even more prevalent here than awesome anime hair and fanny packs in Japan is the bitchin moustache! Everyone has one. I mean E-V-E-R-Y-O-N-E. I swear even 8 year old boys and 80 year old have these rad, amazingly bushy growths of hair on their upper lip. I bet they can shave and like 2 minutes later its full again. Haven't seen a woman with one yet, but I'm sure she's out there, I've only been her a week.

Soon, I hope to have some pictures up. I would also like to write about the languages and the rickshaws and the hawkers and the kick ass food. It's so cheap to eat here that it is difficult for a foodie like me to not go home having over eaten. I waddle home frequently.

Well I think I should be heading back to the hotel now. It's hot and I want to take a cold bucket bath and maybe have a nap.

Until next time...

Peace, Love and Fish Tikka with Nan and Dallh on the side!

Chris

Holy Cow!

Hey Friends,

Yesterday was a long one. It started at 5:30 with a wake up and a stretch and a cup of tea. Then it was off to the train station at 6 with the lovely miss Emily and my luggage. Two and a half hours of standing room on the train later, we arrived at Narita Airport... sweet. Fortunately we left plenty of time because I had to repack EVERYTHING twice and mail some stuff.

When I first flew into Japan my bags were over packed and over weight by quite a sum. I was never charged for them when I left Portland... I would have been willing to pay a few bucks then... now I realize I just WAAAAy over packed. Anyhow, right around the middle of may I mailed a box home to the family. It was filled with all my overly prepared mistakes... shoes, pants, shirts, sweatshirts. And it also included some souvies from Japan... you'll see 'em later. This was quite a large box, and surprisingly inexpensive to ship by boat- it weighed like 40-something Kg and only cost me Y 8,400 (about 90 bucks). Not bad all things considered.

So I had thought I had cleaned myself out pretty well, and since Emily isn't arriving in India for another week and change, and she's got more stuff than me, I volunteered the majority of one of my suitcases to her stuff. I thought it would be ok even if we had to pay a few bucks to get them here on the airline. I happen to be a very spatially efficient packer so both of those bags got pretty heavy. As we stood at the ticket counter and had the bags weighed, they came out to be something like 28 kg over weight. I thought.... hmm maybe like 50 or 60 bucks to compensate for the overage... we're cool. But wait...

'That'll be Y 97,400 please'. Waaaaaaait a minute. Say that again.

'Y 97,400.' That's pretty much almost $1000! For two bags.

That's only a couple hundred bucks less than what I paid for my whole plane ticket... From Portland to LA to Tokyo to Singapore to Bangalore!

Ok. Only one thing to do. Get some big bags from the airlines, and start offloading stuff that Em can take with her or ship.

Then to the ticket counter. Try again.

Still 20 kg over. Crap!

Rearrange and pick out the stuff I can just throw away or mail to myself, or that Em can take or ship... Then try again.

Still 16 kg over... what now?

Reevaluate everything. Unload anything that is heavy and put it in my carry on. My back doesn't have a 28 kg weight limit, only a size limit. Unload more stuff to mail. Put 6 shirts on and two sweatshirts and a jacket... cut the weight, yo. I felt like a wrestler trying to make weight.

Finally! Only 2kg over. They are cool with up to 5, but I didn't want to go putting stuff back in after all that... plus I really had to get going to the post office and the terminal, and have some food if I got the chance. Oh yeah, and I really had to go to the bathroom this whole time- I nearly exploded.

50 bucks later we boxed and shipped some of that stuff, Em took some of it home with her... I don't know what her plans are for it quite yet. A trip to Charbucks for a coffee and a sammich... then to the terminal.

So we said our temporary goodbyes... and I was off to Singapore.

The flight was a nice and easy 6ish hours, good movies, food wasn't half bad and the flight attendants were beautiful. Singapore seems really cool and I hope to visit there for real some day. The people seemed super nice, it was ridiculously clean and $1 US is worth about $1.15 Singapore dollars (always a plus). I had some super spicy food and hopped back on a plane for 5 hours Bangalore.

This flight was not so smooth. It was actually very turbulent. My guts were churning for a number of reasons- none of which include air turbulence. Nope... it was definitely the combination of all the food and stress and what have you. I wasn't feeling bad or sick... just gassy. This is never comfortable when in confined spaces with lots of other people for many hours. I had some beer. Only added to the pain. Oh yeah then I spilled a beer all over myself... they make those little tray tables so damn small! Oh well. Everything else was great.

When we landed for some strange reason they checked everyone through customs and then through security again...(in that order) just to leave the airport. Whatever. So I waited for about 45 minutes for the bags... of course they were some of the last to come through. But I got them.

Next mission was to wade through the mobs of yelling people (seem to be common here), kindly notify each and every persitstent cabbie that "No, thank you. I will take the bus.", and to find the right bus to Koramangala. Then from Koramangala I was to have the bus driver arrange a continuing taxi to Soms... the hostel I'm staying at. If only things were that easy.

After an hour in what seemed like a high speed bus chase, through the crowded streets with no traffic lights and seemingly no rules either, we arrived at Koramangala bus stand. Here, G the bus driver (His name starts with a G but is way too long for me to remember) helped me procure a rickshaw to the hostel... "of course" the driver knew where I was wanting to go... I gave him the name and address and he said "no problem". Haha. Ha.

After an hour of driving around on bumpy unpaved roads, through pot holes, being chased by packs of stray dogs and asking everyone we saw.... no hostel. We ran into the police. Two guys on a motorcycle... surely they would know, thems tha Pooolice. Nope.

Finally, after another half hour of driving in circles and through the small alleys and side streets we roll up along a dark house. I thought to myself, 'Great, after all this time- and there is nobody here to show me to my room. Now what?'. The cops and the rickshaw guy stayed with me, and one of the police had gone to get a phone... we called, rousted Soms out of bed... and apologized profusely. He welcomed me warmly and apologized for the inconvenience.

I would have been screwed if it weren't for the patience and generosity of the rickshaw guy and those cops. I overly thanked them, and then tipped them all. Wow.

Now I'm here and it is the polar opposite of Japan. Beautifully loud and dirty, super real and very poor. I'll be writing more as soon as I can... the internet seems pretty shoddy here. Pictures will likely have to wait for quite some time. I will try to keep y'all updated.

Until next time, wow. What a great experience!

Peace and Love,

Chris

Next Stop... India.

Hi everybody!
I'll try to keep this blog a bit shorter than the last one. I end up reading them so many times... yep, I get tired of hearing myself think. I can only imagine what it looks like to someone that has better things to do.

I had a great couple of days here, the last ones in Japan... maybe ever. Today I woke up and rewrote a resume, and then went to the beach in hopes that the surf might be good... it wasn't so I ran instead and then swam in the ocean. It feels like a comfortable swimming pool on a hot day.

The last few days have been a real opportunity to reflect upon my stay here in Japan. In light of some of the personal things that have really become apparent as weaknesses and points for personal improvement, I must separate the introspection from the incredible experiences I have had here and focus on the gratifying aspects of this first leg of my journey. Food, flowers, places and people are a few of the things that define my reality- that goes for in the states too.

As I mentioned before... the people here are incredible. They are so level, so kind and unassuming, so polite and non-judgmental, patient and hospitable. I am humbled by some of the ways in which the culture of Japan creates a slight bit of a utopia. You can leave your stuff chillin' on the beach and know that it will be there when you get back to it. You don't have to lock your bike unless it's really nice. You don't have to lock your doors at night... if it weren't for some of the creepy bugs we would just leave ours open 24/7. There is a collective honesty here that is quite admirable and it really feels safe. There aren't really too many shady characters here... people just don't seem to be that way and if they are...they keep it to themselves out of respect. (I'm not in Tokyo, I imagine it is a bit seedy in spots there). It is refreshing to think that there really are places in the world where people are generally kind hearted for no other reason than to be that way. I think that's pretty cool.



I have just recently met some new people that I want to say a few words about. These people have just been so nice, and have qualities about them that, if everyone had them and used them, the world would be a better place.

The first couple are students and friends of Emily. They are a happily married couple in their 60s, well traveled and classy... still very Japanese. They have done so much for Emily over the last several months that it has truly been a blessing for her to know them, and for me too. They invited me over for tea and snacks and wine... they took the both of us to a very, very expensive sushi dinner in Yokohama, they took us for a Japanese/Italian meal another night, and tempura lunch another time. They don't even know me, yet they were so kind and generous.

(the pic on the left is just somebody random near the fish market).

Eichiro(eh-ichi-ro) and Kazuko are their names. As a couple... I must say they're adorable. I'm not sure if they had an arranged marriage or if it was non-traditional... not something you really want to ask about... either way they act very much in love and take great care of each other. They understand English and can speak it reasonably well (thanks to Emily), but even when they don't understand they are so graceful about asking for clarification, or just accepting it as something they didn't understand and moving on ( I can totally relate). We have had nice conversations. They are just such sweet and humble people, I can't get over them. I can only hope to be that cool.

We went to sushi with Kazuko and Eichiro for Emily's birthday, and I don't really think I will ever have such good sushi ever again. I surely will never look at an oyster the same way again, or sea urchin or tofu or miso or tuna or snapper or... the fact that it all tasted way, way better than anything I have ever eaten... pretty much means I can die knowing what heaven tastes like and having high expectations for whoever St. Peter's got catering the Pearly Gates Cafe.

The next person I would like to mention has changed my ideas of objectivity. Barnaby Haszard IV is a close friend of Emily, and a right stellar individual. The man is so damn calm and objective I sometimes wonder if he's human. He doesn't usually have much to say, but when he does it is pretty much straight forward and precisely what he wants to say. Like I have said before, I want to learn to say more with less. I admire Barns for that... and because he's New Zealander and his middle name is Haszard.

Next on the list is someone I met the other day. I have been wandering by this restaurant for several weeks on my way to and from the grocery co-op... and it always looked vacant. One day last week, I was wandering by, on my way to get groceries and I saw that it was open and there was a sandwich board outside with the daily specials written on it in chalk. I immediately noticed that it was written both in Japanese and perfect English. Sometimes you see funny versions of English on things, like the little pocket pack of Kleenex I received from the Yamaha corporation that said "Fun Your Life!"... it was promoting music and I think that's way cool... but the English is a bit funny, eh? Anyway, this particular sign had well written English on it and I was intrigued by what was on the menu. I walked inside, said sumimasen (excuse me) konnichiwa (hello) and sat down.

This place is called the Sunnyside Cafe, aptly named because it gets the afternoon sun and the whooshing of the monorail train all day. It very much reminds me of any number of places you might find on the Oregon or California coast. The food is awesome and comes from a very different menu from most other places. It is run by a woman named Noboru which in literal translation in masculine form means (to climb).

Noboru is about 5'7", pretty tall for a Japanese woman, and has the classically beautiful Japanese look that easily masks 10 or 15 years, though I estimate she is in her early 30s . She is built like a bean stalk... perhaps her name is fitting. She is tall, lanky and likely only about 100lbs if she were carrying a big sack of rice. Noboru speaks good English and was great to talk to. She had spent a year in Santa Monica, CA. "going to school" and learning English. By "going to school" she means, she hung around in small bistros and cafes of Santa Monica and talked to old people. I found her story interesting, that she now runs her restaurant on the weekends and works as a receptionist for her father's medical practice. I hope she can turn that restaurant into more than her hobby. She is a great cook and her place has a uniquely artistic style that I haven't seen any of in Japan. Her lamb stew and cous cous was spectacular and the home made falafel reminded me of the badass falafel cart outside the UO bookstore.

Noboru helped me with a vegetable that I bought at the co-op... I thought it might have been like a cucumber, but no, it was something called 'goya'. "Bitter Melon" is something they eat a lot of in Okinawa. They usually prepare it fried with a bunch of salted meat and eggs. The name doesn't lie- holy hell it's bitter- that's why it was only Y100 ($1). She grabbed a cook book and eagerly tried to find the best ways to prepare goya so it wouldn't be so gnarly. I made it with fried rice and onions and mushrooms... it made great 'put the drunkyasses to sleep' food. Today I went back to thank her for her help, and that's when I had the falafel.

She inspires me to maybe one day, if the opportunity presents itself, open a small bed and breakfast somewhere beautiful. It's a reminder that you can do things that you like, and make a living, even if it is simple. Perhaps it's the simplest things in life that are so often taken for granted, overlooked and forgotten that once remembered can reawaken the truth within us and rekindle the sense of contentment we had as children-when stacks of mail and keys, shoes and other inanimate objects satisfied our needs for stimulation like a bag of cheerios could fulfill entertainment and hunger at the same time.


There is a record shop in Kamakura. It's on the same street as about 4 shoe stores, 3 dress shops, 2 day spas and a shop that only sells 1 pastry.
At any rate, I was wandering around Kamakura's downtown with a surfboard and a luke warm beer looking for a place to buy a yoga mat (as if I don't look gaijin enough by simple virtue of actually being gaijin). That's when I heard some bitchin tunage... Beres Hammond blairing from inside the rasta shop.

I couldn't help myself. You see, I have this thing...a weakness if you will. There are a few things that are tasty enough to distract me and pull me away from a mission (yoga mat), and aside from the beer and the surfboard already occupying my imagination and my delight, only pretty girls (not likely), rad mountain bikes (quite likely), free beer and rare, high quality vinyls could do it. My Achilles heel... the smell of rare vinyl records. It's as if I were Toucan Sam following my nose to the froooty flavors of Froooot Looops!

So if you've ever seen Japanese people dance, or 'groove', get jiggy if you will, then you know that the only thing whiter than a white guy is a Japanese guy. I swear. Look it up on youtube or in the encyclopedia. So my horrible stereotyping of people was easily thwarted by the two guys in OST. They weren't dancing, but I bet if you sent them to Reggae on the River they would be in the front row Rude Boy Shufflin', Easy Skankin' and passin' the doochie han de left han side. These guys are really cool... pretty well versed in all kinds of music and very willing to listen to anything that might sound good in somebody's ears. Open music lovers unite.

Tsyoshi and Yuichi spend their days hanging out listening to music. It's like working at Dutch Bros. only you don't really do... anything. These guys were really nice, and just excited to speak English to somebody, and super stoked to share the love of all types of music. They had stacks of old reggae, dub and ska records that were mostly in immaculate condition, and at a reasonable price. If I had the money, I would have bought most of their LP's and shipped them home. I almost bought a few, but I can't take them to India, and I don't trust that they would make it to the states without being warped by heat or moisture or pressure.

Thanks to Tsyoshi and Yuichi at OST...
I am reminded again that music is the universal soul language by which we can all relate. Through the vibrations which permeated our own mother's womb we were trained in the connective ways of love and music. To my knowledge, there is not a cultural group on this tiny planet that doesn't practice some form of musical expression. For all of the ways we can see differences and put up walls- music can make those things transparent. Music can melt away the sheets of ice and little plastic trays that divide us into perfectly impersonal packages of pre-shaped frozen nuggets-in the freezer case, waving from a frosty distance. Music unites.


The other night we went out to a place on the beach near Hase. It's called Seedless, and it's a pretty California style joint, as it claims to be. I had a great burger, and on Thursdays they have $3 pints... can't beat that anywhere in Japan. We had to meet her friend Mike and give him her old computer and have a visit. Well it's easy to drink beer in that place, so we did. After a couple of hours, I was about ready to leave, had already paid and everything... dude stumbles up and starts talking to us. This is pretty unusual for Japanese to do, even in a bar.

Well it turns out that Ichi and his friend Taka were born two days appart in the same hospital and their parents lived like a hundred feet from eachother. These two guys were destined to be friends, and they are. Ichi is currently not working, but is definitely a computer science guy... kind of has to be. He's all about quannum physics and you know, space and time stuff? Pretty fascinating. He spoke pretty good English, and don't let him tell you different, because he doesn't think so. I had no problem hearing what he had to say.

His friend, Taka, owns a restaurant in Kamakura near Hachimangu temple. I think we're going there tomorrow. His mother ran the business until she lost her fight with cancer... he took over. He says there are customers that have been going there since he was an infant. He studied computer science and IT in Canada, Toronto I believe. He speaks perfect English and said the best thing about Canada is their passion for hockey. He later gave us a ride home.

These two guys are so nice, and so real. We had great conversations and many laughs. Hanging out with cats like that is going to make me miss being here as much as it makes me miss being home. They have a friendship bond that is almost as much like a brotherhood as being blood. I should hope everyone has at least one person in their life like that. If you don't, gimme a call. Theres room for one more.

Those two guys remind me of my family and friends and coworkers. Those people who will always be your rock, and you theirs, are invaluable to the human spirit. I can't help but feel that relationships are so easily taken for granted. There is something serious to be said about loyalty and unconditional love, but I think it's best left unsaid.


I leave on Monday, and there is so much more to write about... but maybe I'll write more tomorrow. Just remind me to tell you about tombi attacks and pachinko, combinis and oh crap!!! I have to take a picture of something very specific tomorrow!

TTFN!

Be good people!

Nothin but Love,

Chris

The Phenomenon of Realization and Growth: Old Me meet New Me

Fancy Meeting You Here~

It has been 1 month nearly to the day since I began reaping the benefits of being outside the states, away from home and the familiar routines, in a completely different state of mind than perhaps I have ever known. This transformation of emotional self-understanding is not an easy one to undergo, nor is it fast or convenient. Hardest of all in this evolution of self is the ever present reminder of past mistakes. These are the things that grind deep within the gears of one's soul. What I'm talking about are the insensitive mistakes I have made that I regret. The ones I wish I could take back only for an instant, to maybe see how it would have changed where I am now, specifically in terms of relationships and the paths which they travel. Also in terms of life choices, ambitions and philosophies.

These are all very deep and personal things that we all must confront at times in our lives, potentially when we are the most alone. These are confronted at the times when we are allowed to realize exactly how small we truly are on this earth, how insignificant. These for me are welcome moments of self retrospection and self introspection with the fullest intentions of positive growth and improvement as a thoughtful outcome. It has been a long time since I have really questioned why I do what I do, how I do what I do, and whom I choose to surround myself with. This is a very valuable time to recognize what I am proud of and the laurels on which I have rested for far too long. Learning to learn again, leaning towards love again and giving way to growth once more. This is what I'm here for.

When was the last time you realized you aren't who you thought you were and felt incredibly small? When was the last time you made an effort to improve yourself beyond improving your bank account? When was the last time you spent time trying to answer not just a difficult personal question, but one you asked of yourself? They are the kind of questions that usually only a significant other might ask of you in order to prove a point. It's what happens when you allow yourself to be your own best friend, your own worst enemy and subsequently, your own significant other. It sounds depressing I know, but understand that these kinds of things need to occur in a person's life in order to accumulate knowledge and self determination. It must happen if one desires understanding and clarity, personal evolution and improvement.

To answer the questions I posed in the preceding paragraph, the last time I remember a marked experience of personal growth was after a couple of seasons of Drum Corps. There's nothing like hard work in every sense of the term to frustrate you into change. For me that series of experiences not only shaped my perceptions of hard work and dedication, passion and performance, but also gave me a new appreciation of isolation. By this I mean, on tour you live on a bus and on gym floors with 130 of your closest friends for months. It is the hardest times that you find yourself missing the routines and regularities of home. This is isolation. When you can be surrounded but so many people, but still feel lost and alone- isolated.

Hardships experienced in nearly any way can provide insight into what it is that you as a person take for granted.

Don't be mistaken, tour is pretty much all routine, and it is all dictated for you on a dry erase board on the side of your rolling cafeteria..(Mmmmm.... cheese bagels and tato bar... ahhhh.) It is the basic stuff you take for granted though- sleeping, showering and defecating in complete privacy. Having more than 10 minutes to digest before running a few miles. Basic stuff like that is completely glossed over by so many other things in "regular" or "real" life that the average person living in supreme comfort truly takes for granted. If you don't believe me, try to remember the last thing you complained to someone or within yourself about and then post it on a scale of 1-10, least to most, how petty that complaint really is. If you still don't believe me, watch an episode of nearly any American "Reality Television" show... if you want one in particular MTV's "My Super Sweet 16". If you haven't seen it, really, do yourself a favor and have large quantities of alcohol chilling in the fridge for the aftermath. Oh, and prepare to be sooooo jealous! (That friends, is sarcasm.)

The time before the great experience to which I owe the subculture of Drum Corps. is one which can be described as a defining one. Not in the sense that it made a title for me, or entitles me to anything or that I can call myself special for any reason. I suppose these experiences can only define me as a fortunate soul. It is how I am defined as fortunate that shapes the experience for me.

In the summer of 2001 I was fortunate enough to go to school all summer. This wasn't any old schoolin'. This was 6 weeks of isolation in the central Oregon desert, with a group of people I had never met until the day I embarked upon the journey to field school. Our mission involved studying the cultural remains of people who lived in harmony with the natural environment, at least much more so than the majority of us can even come close to claiming, for many thousands of years. We were to excavate known sites in a respectful and scientific way. If we happened upon ancient human remains (which we did) we were to stop, notify the Confederated Tribes of the Klamath (which we did), wait for their elders, their prayers and their blessings and then continue with our dig (which we did).

It wasn't digging up 11 or 12,000 years of geologic and cultural history. It wasn't seeing or touching the artifacts or smelling the dirt in which they had been encapsulated, sealed off for thousands of years from the living and breathing spaces beyond the lonely layers of volcanic ash and tuff. It was the isolation of being in such a harsh and unforgiving environment. A place so vast that at night from the cliffs on the edge of our camp, we could see for more than 100 miles. It makes you feel so small when there are no lights to be seen. None that aren't huge balls of gas, millions of miles away.

On the 4th of July there was an electrical storm over the desert. It was hot that day, 112 degrees in the shade, and we had worked hard with the prospect of beer and a fireworks show in Christmas Valley, about 50 miles away. Well after dinner... there had been too many beers to make it to the fireworks show. I decided to hike up my cliff. To the soundtrack of nighthawks diving and swooping at insects in the warm night air, I watched the fireworks show in Christmas Valley. Well above the dizzying heights of the fireworks I witnessed something I doubt I'll ever see again. This was what made me realize how insignificant one human is. It was lightning streaking the sky, just like you might see in a National Geographic magazine. It wasn't just the lightning that was spectacular though. It was the glow of the stars over the vast desert that hadn't yet been blanketed by the distant thunderheads, and it was the fireworks bursting, dwarfed and humbled beneath the nauseating reality of lightning.

How Truly Small Indeed.

So, as I was saying...

It wasn't that we were enveloped in the vastness and isolation of the desert, or the breadth and mystery of human prehistory. No, it wasn't just living in a tent for six weeks or systematically wandering around the desert for miles just looking at the ground for signs of prehistoric (or historic) occupation. It was the combination. It was the elixir created by hard work, rough conditions, deep curiosity and respect for the historic people and the land placed before me. It was the time spent alone beneath the wise boughs of massive ponderosa pines (aptly or coincidentally named for ponderousness) or on the cliff above the desert, wooing the nighthawks and bats or whomever was listening, with the guttural organic vibrations of my didgeridoo. It was traveling by foot through arid hills crowned with ancient juniper trees and blooming sage brush, managed by coyotes and jack rabbits and rattle snakes and lizards. It was knapping obsidian projectile points in the same way, with the same materials as those who roamed that very rugged land no less than 10,000 years before me. It's timelessness nearly unfathomable and it's memory always humbling, I came home a different person. I am fortunate to have experienced the truth and purity of being that accompanies natural isolation and moves a human toward a more natural and instinctual state of mind. I am fortunate to have learned an even deeper respect than I once had for the earth that sustains and nurtures our human race, whether or not the majority of us choose to recognize or praise her for it. I am fortunate to have gained a deeper understanding of a place that, because of it's isolation and harshness, most people of comfort tend to ignore and avoid. I am fortunate to have learned a new kind of love.

When we speak of regrets we are usually speaking of things we have done or said intentionally and thoughtfully at a time of action or response, which we later wish we could reapply ourselves to in order to have better handled the given situation. I suppose then that in the end when our actions or words come around to kick us in the teeth and fully embed our own stinky foot in our own dirty mouth, we realize how we may have been fully in the wrong while at the time feeling completely and unapologetically correct in what it was that we said or did.

Here's an example... and it really may apply to my regret or my justice in the future more than now. So I apologize to you and myself in advance. It is about heaven and hell. And so be it. I'm really not sure about either, and therefore can only go upon what I do know. That is itself another slippery slope, knowledge. What do we REALLY know? I don't know for sure that there is or is not a heaven or hell. But the fact that sooooo many people on this earth act solely by an idea of what is to become of them in the preconceived event that they are "judged" after they have lived, at the "pearly gates", that they miss out on all the great opportunities in life that they could have experienced had "THE MAN" not kept them down under the enculturated ideas of religion- is purely fear based and disrespectful to the human experience of which it is a conscience governing part. That is to say- heaven and hell are constructs of the human mind through the intrinsic and unconscious nature of humanity to fear what is unexplainable. This also implies that those of you who do believe in heaven and hell, for better or worse, therefore indeed believe in reincarnation- afterlife- the thing you experience after you die and your soul leaves your earthly body and this particular plane of existence. However, to flip the coin, these constructs are also valuable and integral parts of that same human experience and are owed respect and gratitude.

This is neither here nor there, because if that time of judgment occurs and my homie St. Peter asks "What the hell were you thinking? Didn't you know you might regret that decision, don't you know about hell?", I can honestly say, "Uncle Pete, I am a pure soul. I used the information given, was aware of wolves in sheep's clothing of all forms presented to me including all the ones in religion. The last thing I would want to do is REGRET anything I did. With the understanding that sins are forgiven, wouldn't it be logical for a mortal to attempt to make Heaven on Earth, with the best of intentions, knowing that we really DON'T know. Why would I live and act with good intentions my whole mortal life knowing that some of those intentions, regardless of my personal beliefs would likely land me in front of a little red guy with horns surrounded by fire and brimstone, three headed dogs and The Backstreet Boys? Because God loves me? That should be a sin in itself! Holding back on life, streaming consciousness and spontaneous but thoughtful action under the passive/aggressive shadows of fear that have been provided by the purely human constructs of religion? For all I knew, God had planned for me to be this way and to act how I act and to question what I question. If IT wanted me not to be like this, IT would have fashioned me as a sea slug or a banana or some mangy little kid's pet rock. Hey, thats a nice set of wings ya got there! I am a buh-nana!"

I can't help but believe that we are here for no other reason than to love and learn, with compassion and understanding... and to think for ourselves. It is when we become complacent in, and stop questioning those things that we begin to lose our grasp on humanity and our truly conscious freedom as living, breathing and independently thinking creatures.

I'm not trying to disrespect religion or belief systems... so don't go bitchin' at me because I'm giving you a different and potentially "blasphemous" perspective. I am however trying to think outside the box a little bit. That is my whole point. Why should we just believe what we have been taught, what's been thrown and spat at us
since we were small children. In the words of a curbside and comedy club prophet of our times, Chris Rock, "THAT AIN'T RIGHT!!!!". To just bend over and take it because, "That's just the way it is , son", would be a terrible injustice to the whole idea of freedom and individuality. If God loves us all and moves us all, then IT knows whether or not IT wants us to be good people by virtue of IT's constant dissatisfied tinkering with the peace and comfort in our lives. I could potentially go on and on... but I'd rather not and I'm sure you'd rather I not, and I'd rather you not rather I not... Unless you rather?

So you see...

This is part of my journey of re-realization. If you've spent time with kids you then know the beauty of innocence, the intrigue of wonder and the power of fear. This is typically how Westerners (Americans specifically) are raised. (Forgive my blanket statement). As children we are nurtured through innocent wonder and into fear and thus experience loss of innocence and inquisitiveness by the installation of that same fear. Example: "Stop it or your eyes are going to stay that way!" , "Keep doin' that and you'll go blind!", or anything associated with " because Santa Claus is comin' to town". This again- fibers woven into the fabric of complacency, conformity and homogeneity, and essentially manifests the near loss of one's truly curious self identity as it relates to the world around. This is quite a bit more evident in the Japanese culture, only without as much fear instilled into young children. That is just a personal observation of the freedoms allowed to Japanese youngsters at nearly all times in comparison to the disciplined guilt that is ingrained into the youth of the Judeo-Christian, Protestant work ethic... these same free souls on both sides are later morphed into robots by schooling and extra curricular machines. Few will escape the mold.

I suppose I have ventured away from my original point a bit, but it all applies to the broader spectrum of thinking. That one person can be so intensely and blindly programmed within their lives by the very things that are culturally and socially designed to protect them from the destructive forces of the pervading world and themselves, by their parents and their peers, their cultural values and the educational system into which they have been led with the best of intentions- is not often questioned or recognized as the force by which homogeneous culture is bred through the individual.

I must ask then; How does one escape the psychological, emotional and intellectual boundaries both positively and negatively implanted by the social nurturing devices of mother culture? How can one person grow beyond the parameters of understanding one's own mind, if there is no process embedded within to endure growth beyond the normalcy, complacency and stagnant nature of the potential majority of beings within native culture? Based on observation and deep thoughts (by Jack Handey) on this subject, I must propose that it seems to be at the most random, the most incomprehensible, the most difficult of times in a person's life that change is fostered. It is the moments which lack clarity and drown energy that in turn create energy and force clarity. It is the balance between old and new, what is seemingly "for sure" and what forces us to question what is "for sure". This is the space between routine comfort, typical situations, got-the-world-by-the-balls-ism and personal growth.maybe if i write... it will save me.

We are all a part of this greater thing, a greater consciousness. With this in mind, think of the possibilities that we as humans are completely oblivious of and complacent to. What are we missing? Think of the capacity of the human mind as an untapped resource, like tha oayl up in that thur Alaskey. We are only using small parts of our brains and even smaller parts of our energetic connectivity. Is it not fantastic what we can do without really thinking about it? I mean really! Look at what we do and have done, what we have created and destroyed... what we do to each other and what we will or won't do for one another. This is all performed in a very robotic, very practiced and routine way. We function as if what we do as an occupation defines who we are, and how we fit into the greater scheme of things. In some ways that may be true, but how is waking up and going to work, coming home and absorbing your daily dose of distraction, going to bed, waking up and doing it again the next day beneficial to the overall consciousness and spiritual evolution of greater humanity? Don't you care what happens to humans in the future? Sure you do! Why do we rut ourselves into such dehumanizing and robotic lifestyles without caring about or questioning it? It is unnatural. We are subservient participants, blindly engulfed in a sad phenomenon- the devolution of the human spirit.

There is so much capacity for love and compassion within the human spirit. There is such power within all of us as individuals. There is so much untapped energy that if we as a species were to heighten our awareness of it, be willing to hone it and nurture it and collectively aim it toward peace and unity, toward education and opportunity, toward food and shelter for ALL and finally toward love- we can reverse the effects of devolution and begin again on our righteous path to higher human consciousness and REAL HUMANITY. We all have to want it though. We all have to recognize that the path we are currently choosing on this planet is misleading and destined for failure. We have to reeducate ourselves in what it is to be powerful without money and guns, to be compassionate and generous without the promise of a tax write off, to be loving and concerned for the well being one another without allowing religion or nationality or property or resources or entitlement to continue to divide us.






Until we are able to humble ourselves beyond our egos, recognize our social limitations as humans, embrace all people and our untapped collective capacities for positive energy, compassion and love- We will not know peace and we will not know truth.


To bring this thing back around, back down to Earth...

How do we begin to act upon something that is so much larger than ourselves? How can I make a difference in this short period of time I'm allowed on this planet and on this plane? How does all this stuff apply to what I have written and asked? Further, how does it all relate to these ideas of old and new self?

A very wise man named Ghandi said many profound things in his short time on Earth, and one of the sentiments he offered that resonates with me on the simplest level- "Be the change you want to see in the world." And so it starts with me. It starts with you.

In the last several years I have stopped dreaming both literally and figuratively, stopped aspiring to go beyond my comfortable capacity as Christopher Hudock: Grandson, Son, Brother, Brotha, Nephew, Cousin, Barista, Teacher, Artist, Musician, Athlete. Surely there is always more to a person than that which they would ramble off on a resume or dating website in hopes that they are given a new purpose or person, a new reason to occupy their time. That I will not argue. For me though, these acts of dreaming and redefinition have taken the lame sidecar to the small stuff that resides within the darkness of my own being, driving it's big cool Hot Wheels. MY BIG COOL HOT WHEELS! It is the stuff that hasn't seen the sunshine since I last locked it away in my internal dungeon with all of its subconscious, selfconscious friends. Insecurity, Guilt, Egotism, Anger, Passivity, Self Doubt, Pride, Guile, Apathy and Ambivalence all live in that dungeon. All things considered it is quite a nice dungeon. Push button all wheel drive, rad set of cup holders, great stereo system and central heating... but it is still a dungeon that can be cold and dark and unforgiving. Sometimes it seems that hiding in the corner of that dungeon trying not to draw attention to themselves, trying not to become somebody's Bitch or get shanked with the sharpened end of a toothbrush or beaten with the business end of a turkey drumstick- are love and truth. They hide in there, free to go- but waiting for the others to lay down their shanks and drumsticks, and move aside.

In the light of knowledge and self determination, truth and love can grow up strong and outwardly even stronger.


This is where it is at. Learning how to ask questions of myself again, and giving myself some answers. Through these questions and responses within myself, and with the help of a wonderfully objective friend, we have observed some very small things about me and my interactions with the world around that I would like to work on. I would like to learn to be more objective, take things at face value and not put my own spin on them. I would like to be more compassionate toward others, put myself in their shoes if for nothing else but to understand the perspective of another. For both of these things to happen I need to be more humble and less self absorbed. With all this talk of self realization though, it is more that I should be more internally observant and conscious than outwardly sharing self flattery. I must keep in the mindset of learning. I would like to learn to be more precise with words. I would like to say what I mean and mean what I say. I would like to learn to say more with less. (Not a very good start yet, I know.) I would like to learn more about subtlety, tact, transparency and directness when dealing with myself and others. I would like to love more fully and more freely, as there was a time when I questioned the existence of love- I'm over that. I want it to be less about me as an individual and more about the greater realm of human interconnection and consciousness.


I may have said too much, and I may have said nothing at all. I hope it makes some sense and I hope it may get you to think about some things you haven't thought about before, or at least in a long time. Maybe, you'll begin a renaissance of your own. Maybe together we can unite for the cause of knowledge, love, truth and compassion. You know, join hands and start a love train... love train. It has to start somewhere, it has to start sometime. What better place than here, what better time than now? (Thanks Rage Against the Machine, for that one)

Thanks for reading.

Nothin' but love.